Whispers of the mind
by fazy
Summary: Male pregnancy fic. Haldir feels Elrond is neglecting him and falls into depression. 1st person narrative, set in 21st century Scotland.
1. chapter 1

Title: Whispers of the mind

Author: fazy

Pairing: Haldir/ Elrond.

Rating: PG for now.

Summary: 1st person narrative. 21st century Scotland, Haldir feels his husband is neglecting him.

Warnings: Slash, mpreg, fatalism, depression, self-harm, eventual character deaths.

A/N: Chappie 1 is pretty light and fluffy. :D It gets much darker as the story goes along. I'll probably up the rating as the fic progresses. And yes, Elrond _will _make an appearance in the next chapter. /grinz /

* * *

Sitting in the helicopter with Lesz, I twiddle my fingers impatiently. I cannot wait to get back. To return to the Estate. To go back to the place I have lived for the past two hundred years. To be where my husband waits for me. To return to my beloved. To go home.

Ai, the word sings in my breast. Home! My home. The place I belong. The place I know I am loved. The place where my heart rests. My home. I am so happy. I thought today that I might loose my home forever. I had been dreading what I saw as my inevitable job transferral, and so when I received orders to report to headquarters last night, I thought the end had come. I never dreamed they would let me stay.

I feel a warm glow within me, and unconsciously I rest my hand protectively over my stomach. I hardly even realize it until I catch myself crooning to my unborn baby. I quickly glance up at Lesz, mortified at my display of ... of ... of what? Broodiness? Is there even such a term? And if there is, is it valid in this context? I don't know. And I don't care. Lesz is too busy piloting the helicopter to notice my odd behavior, and I am too happy to care much even if he does.

"How long till we get home?" I ask Lesz through the speaker of my headset.

"Not too long now. Maybe half an hour?" His voice through the receiver sounded oddly cackled and mechanical. I smile at him and fold my hands against my tummy, a compromise between my parental instinct and my desire to maintain face.

"I am anxious to return," I say quietly. I look down and bite back a smile. I cannot wait to see my husband again. He does not know I have been summoned to headquarters, but he knows how likely it is that I would be pulled out. We have been waiting for their call. We have been dreading it in silence. How glad he would be to know it is all over, and that I can stay with him in Scotland for as long as I want! What a relief it would be for the both of us, to spend our days free, no longer bogged down by fears or anxieties!

I draw a deep breath and close my eyes as I exhale, feeling my muscles relax as I do. I can feel the images of my husband dancing beneath my eyelids, and I long to reach out and embrace him. 'How long more?' I ask inwardly. 'How long must I wait to see him again!'

I feel like I would burst. I am as light as a feather, my very limbs seem to float on air. And yet there is a groundedness about me, a certain solidarity of thought that has eluded my being for so long. Reaching into the shopping bag on my lap, I finger a book of baby names I had purchased on my way to meet Lesz. It feels real in my hands, and I grip it hard. I am excited, but I am anxious too. The book has brought out both extremes in me, and I dig my nails into the soft paperback copy.

Dear Valar, it's terrifying! I still cannot say it, I still cannot articulate the thought. Though I have accepted it, I have yet to form the words in my mouth. Even my mind recoils from the thought. The very sounds of the consonants seem revolting to me, mocking me, my condition little more than a grotesque parody for the amusement of the gods. I hate it. It unmans me. My tongue cannot wrap itself around the syllables without my feeling a wave of nausea run through my entire body. It is sick. That's what it is. Sick.

And yet I do not wish to deny it any longer. Every day our child grows within me, as does my love for it. I want to acknowledge the baby, celebrate it, love it freely and openly and without shame. I want that. I desire that. But I dare not. My pride, my accursed pride stands in the way of my happiness. And not just mine alone, but my husband's and my child's as well. Every day I battle my pride, and every day I triumph just a little bit more. Perhaps soon I shall be free of it.

But an elf cannot live without pride. It is the driving force in most of our lives. Is it not pride that makes us achieve what we have achieved, and take joy in our successes? How different would I be from an average beast if not for my pride and my dignity as an elf? How then must I exert myself if not through my identity, the same identity which I have painstakingly pierced together over the years, specially devised to best flatter my pride? But oh, at what the cost! Because of it, I cannot enjoy my... my... my ....

I close my eyes and take a deep breath to calm myself down. Calm down, Haldir. That's it. Breathe. Relax, just relax. That's it. I sigh deeply and wonder if I can ever bring myself to say those words, even in the privacy of my own head.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Elrond and I have been talking about Baby (as we have termed it) and my... condition... but although I can say Baby effortlessly, I cannot bring myself to ... it is so hard. It is an effort. It is a struggle. I know that it is true. I know that it is real. I have accepted it. But I cannot bring myself to say it.

I grip my book of baby names as if it were a holy text, as if the solidarity of the pages would give me strength and keep me anchored to my reality. Ai, Elbereth, why is it so hard! I feel my eyes start to water with the effort even as I gear myself up and set my mind to form the words. Say it, Haldir. Say it.

But I don't, and Lesz's voice cackles through the headphones, snapping me out of my reverie. We touch down on the helipad, and I am dissatisfied. I feel as if I had sat for and failed a test. Cowardly guts, which cannot even bring himself to acknowledge something so simple as that! I disgust me!

I gather my belongings and step out of the helicopter, more than a little put out, my joyous mood all but dissipated. Sighing heavily, I heave my bags to the bedroom and dump them in a little pile in a corner. I sit down on the bed. From here, I can catch my reflection in the glass. It is a pretty reflection; I am the very image of elvish perfection with my chiseled features, pale skin and platinum blonde hair, and yet I turn away. I cannot bring myself to look me in the face. I disgust me.

I hear a sound at the door and I look up, hoping it would be my husband come to comfort me and reassure me of my worth. I need him to convince me of my worth. Right now, I feel lower than worthless. I cannot even acknowledge the source of my joy. I disgust me.

"Master Haldir?" Ivan says, sitting down beside me. Even though he is only an elderly human seneschal to Elrond's extensive property, he has become one of my most trusted friends. "Is something wrong?"

I arrange my features to form a smile. "No, Ivan," I sigh. I don't feel right telling him about my problem, even though he is my confidant. It has something to do with Baby, and so it is something sacred between my husband and I. Where possible, I would rather keep it between us. I don't want to taint it's sanctity. "Well, at least it's something I want to talk to Elrond about," I correct myself, and this time my smile is sincere.

"Something to do with -- hmm?" he says, purposely leaving out the last two words. Everybody in the household knows about my condition, and how awkward it is for me, and everybody is quietly mindful to avoid the words whenever possible.

I nod in response. "Yes," I say. "We have a lot to talk about." I bite my lip, desperately wanting to go to my husband, but reluctant to approach him now lest my heavy mood proves catching. "I guess I can talk to him over dinner. Can you make arrangements for us to dine in his main study? Oh, or even better, can you just have everything on a trolley so I can just wheel it in? I'd rather..." I pause and swallow hard. "I'd rather... nobody else be there."

Ivan nods understandingly, and I feel as if a huge weight has been lifted from me. I look gratefully up at him and at once I remember my shopping bags. "Ai!" I cry. "I clean forgot!" I rummage around my bags until I find the one full of pastries and other sweet treats from a tea shop not far from headquarters. "There, that's for everyone, I was supposed to put it in the staff common room," I say and fumble some more. "And this is for Vernice," I say, holding up the small bouquet of flowers I had bought for his wife, "and this is for you," I say as I hand him a little book on archeology. "And look," I say, finally drawing out my book of baby names. "I got it on the way home. I thought it might come in useful."

TBC...


	2. chapter 2

Title: Whispers of the mind

Author: fazy

Pairing: Haldir/ Elrond.

Rating: PG for now.

Summary: 1st person narrative. 21st century Scotland, Haldir feels his husband is neglecting him.

Warnings: Slash, mpreg, fatalism, depression, self-harm, eventual character deaths.

* * *

It is evening now, and I am having my dinner as planned, in the quiet privacy of my husband's study. He has cleared his books and papers away, and now our food is laid out on his workdesk. He sits in his heavy armchair, and I sit in his lap, and together we pick at our food and feed each other with our fingers. I have downed half a bottle of wine, and although I don't have much of an alcoholic reaction, I am starting to feel warm and cozy all over.

I tear at a small piece of bread and dip it in the soup, and then bring it up to brush against his lips. When he opens his mouth to receive the morsel, I let my fingers linger against his skin, allowing him the leisure of licking at my digits. Eating together like this, so connected and so intimate, I feel a sudden surge of warmth and affection for him.

Surrendering to my urge, I press my lips hungrily against his. I had intended it to be a loving kiss-- not exactly chaste, but not quite lustful either-- more like a declaration of adoration and heartfelt devotion, but the feel of his tongue teasing the sensitive roof of my mouth awakens in me the desire of the flesh. I break the kiss, shuddering a little as I regain my breath, and then lower my lips to his once more.

He plunders my mouth, more thoroughly this time, and I lean more forcefully against him. "Ai, hervenn," I whisper in his mind, making him thrill as he telepathically picks up the subtle nuances of my thoughts. "I love you... I want you... I... ai... I need you...."

I feel his whole body shudder as he devoured my words. The very words that made me swoon when uttered by him also had the same ability to make him tremble so deliciously against me.

Words! Ai, ai, that rings a bell! Words! Reluctantly, I disentangle myself from him and lean back. Wide, innocent eyes blinks backed at me, dazed. I can see the raw hunger in his eyes, his pupils dilated so wide I can hardly see the grey. He is confused. He thinks I have pulled away because he has done something wrong.

I kiss him reassuringly, lightly this time, resisting his pressure, dancing out of his grasp, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy the immediate bite of lust but he blinks in confusion when I keep drawing back. He is hurt that I do not desire him the way he does me. It is a lie. I want him desperately, but there are more important matters to talk about first.

I snuggle into him as I think of how to put it into words, but he is stroking my hair now, and I am sorely tempted to put the discussion aside until after our lovemaking. But will there be an after? Elrond is part man, and needs his rest. Perhaps later he would be too drained to concentrate?

"I want to talk about Baby," I say softly.

Elrond freezes momentarily. "What's wrong?" he demands. "Are you in pain? Is Baby giving problems? Are you ill? Is everything alright?"

What a pessimist! And trust a healer of the body to zoom into the physical elements first of all. "I'm fine," I say tenderly. "I'm perfectly fine. I just want to talk, that's all."

Slowly I feel his muscles uncoil against me. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, and then buries his lips in my hair and inhales my scent deep into his body before returning to run his fingers through my soft blonde strands. "What is it, Haldir?" he croons, laying a hand on my tummy. He kisses me again, this time on my cheek. "What is it, my love?"

I blush at his attentions. I love him so much. "I.. I don't know, where to start, or what to say. I just... feel like talking, that's all. There must be so many things to talk about and think about and plan...um..." I bite my lip and look away, trying desperately to quell my nervousness. "It's so difficult!"

I take his hand and hold it tight. I do not wait for him to seek me out. I am afraid that if I wait, I will wait forever. He does not come to me. He does not know how. It is always he who waits for me to come to him. It has never been any other way. I wish it were different. I wish I could be the one receiving, that he would be the one giving. As it is he is the provider, he makes sure all my material needs are met. I am the supporter. I am the supporter because he cannot support me emotionally, and so I must support him instead. It is the same in bed, he waits while I work to please him, and I must please him because he cannot please me. He does not know how. It cannot be any other way.

"I cannot even say it, hervenn..." I say softly. "I've tried so hard..." I know he knows what I am talking about. I trust he does. We have lived together for too long for him not to know my mind.

"Oh, Haldir," he sighs and strokes my hair. He is silent for a long while. He does not know what to say. He is a practical person, a political and administrative genius. He does not know how to handle the emotional side of things. He usually leaves that to me. But I am needy. I thirst for his support. Help me, I plead with him through my eyes. Help me cope with this.

He turns away and bites his lip, his brows furrowed in thought. He is always thinking, my husband. He does not know how to feel. Oh, he knows how to feel the basic sensations of love and hope and pity and hurt, but he does not know how to live in that sphere of existence. He does not know how to trust the epistemology of feeling.

I love him. Perhaps that is one reason why I love him so much, that he is so different from me. He is the ying to my yang... just as I am ying to his own yang. We balance each other out. He concretizes me, grounds me firmly in my consciousness and gives me the fire that nature has seen fit to deprive me of. Most of what I know, I know by instinct; the keenly developed instinct of both a military strategist and a professional escort, while most of what he knows he knows from cold hard reasoning. He has forgotten how to feel. He has forgotten how to live. He has forgotten what it is like to be joyful, and I must support him as he rediscovers himself.

I get frustrated at times, he is so rigid and stiff. He cannot let go. He cannot let loose. But I let loose too often, and too completely for my own good, and I constantly run the risk of running myself down. I indulge myself too completely. Like now. I cannot even remember what it is I was about to say that was so important, and so I snuggle up to him. He wraps his arms around me, and I feel safe. It is like a cocoon of love, shielding me from the outside world. I kiss him in humble gratitude. I love my husband.

I feel his fingers brush against my tummy, stroking it gently, and again I feel the weight of the unspoken words stick in my mouth. Say it, Haldir, I tell myself. Just say it. I must say it. I must let it escape from my throat before it grows swollen and cuts off all my breathing air.

Why doesnt he help me? Why does he just sit there watching impassively, as if determined to leave me to struggle on my own? I feel like crying. I feel like screaming at him. Cant he see I need his help? Cant he see that I am desperate for his support? Does he not see it? Does he not care?

Slowly I feel my resolution fade. Why should I bother if he doesn't? What is all this for if it were not for him? Why fight? My battle is already lost. I close my eyes and remember Lothlorien, remember all the days I spent in the realm of the elves. Look around. Where has all the past splendor gone? My brother, he works for the projects division of an MNC and drives a family convertible. My youngest brother is cooped up in his office all day working as a data collector. Across the street from headquarters, one of my former galadhrim earns eight bucks an hour wiping tables and serving over-priced coffee to a posh clientele. We are a lost race, each one of us wandering and incomplete, hopelessly searching what is left of the world for something that might give meaning to our bleak and hopeless lives.

Immortality is a cursed thing. We should have died with our beautiful cities. We should have sailed west. But we didn't. We chose to remain here, not fully aware of the magnitude of our decision. We are a wretched people. We have nothing left.

I glance out the window. A tungsten lamp shines steadily against the mist effect of a heavy downpour. After awhile, it flickers out, and I see a man emerge from the darkness that was the garden shade and dash towards the main building. What was I thinking before this? What was I thinking before I launched into this fatalistic thread? I cannot remember. I snuggle in deeper and feel my husband tighten his hold on my body. I close my eyes and then open them again. Slowly, I feel my eyes grow vacant.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Whispers of the mind

Author: fazy

Pairing: Haldir/ Elrond.

Rating: PG

Summary: 1st person narrative. 21st century Scotland, Haldir feels his husband is neglecting him.

Warnings: Mpreg, fatalism, depression, self-harm, eventual character deaths.

* * *

When I next focus my eyes, it is morning, and Elrond is beside me. "We have to watch your alcohol intake," he says frowning. I blink and stretch the sleep out of my system. I am in my bed, and it is morning. I must have fallen asleep the night before. I would not be surprised. The day before had been exhausting for me, emotionally. I tell Elrond that but he is not convinced. He blames it on the wine. It cannot be the wine. I am not alcohol intolerant, I never have been.

"But you're -- at the moment," he says firmly. "Who knows what changes might be going on in your body. We have to be careful about what you eat." He frowns at me and again the weight of the unsaid descends, forcing my chest to constrict. I turn away. I do not like to have my weaknesses mentioned, and he knows it, but he would not let the matter rest. "You have to be careful, Haldir, you're not just looking out for yourself anymore."

And there it was. The slap in the face.

I roll over so that I am no longer facing him and let a tear slide down my cheek. He is not even flustered about my well-being. All he thinks about is Baby. And suddenly I feel objectified, as if I were nothing more than a vassal for a greater purpose. That I do not exist in his eyes. That all he sees when he looks at me is my function as the bearer of his child. The thought overwhelms me and I start to sob into the pillow.

"Haldir…" he says softly, laying a placating hand on my shoulder. His voice is gentle, and yet I feel an undercurrent of irritation which he cannot conceal from me. He thinks I'm overreacting. He thinks I'm being silly and unreasonable. He puts it down to a chemical imbalance, that I am upset simply because my body is unstable. It breaks my heart that he thinks that. It kills me to think he does not take my emotions seriously. He does not recognize what drives me to think and feel the way I do. He does not realize how real my pain is.

I shrug his hand off and pull the covers over my face, and I hear a hiss of frustration from him. He does not know what to do. He is lost. I bite the back of my hand feeling sorry for myself that my own husband does not know how to comfort me, and later, when I feel him pull away, I sob some more, telling myself that he does not even bother if I am upset. It breaks my heart, and I feel like dying. My own husband does not care.

I hear a shuffling at the side of the bed. I know it is Ivan by the sound of his breathing. It is human, not elven, and the seneschal is the only man bold enough to approach me when I am in one of my moods. Somehow the thought upsets me even more, that my own husband has given up and left, while a complete outsider stands supportively by my side.

"Master Haldir?" he says tentatively. I throw back the covers of the duvet and look up at him listlessly.

"Where is Elrond?" I ask weakly, even though I already know the answer.

"He is working in his study," he says quietly. I close my eyes and shudder into tears. I know how pathetic I must look, curled up around my bolster like that, but it doesn't bother me that Ivan is there to witness it. I trust Ivan completely. He sighs sadly and sits down on the bed. Slowly, gently, he draws my head into his lap and massages my shoulder.

"Why do I do this," I whisper between sobs. "Why do I put myself through this?"

"Hush now," he chides me gently. "Master Elrond loves you… so very much," he says. "It's just that he doesn't know how to show it at times."

"I don't feel it," I say miserably. "I don't feel it." And there is nothing Ivan can say. He sits in silence, massaging my shoulder and rubbing my back. I am touched at his concern. I only wish it were Elrond who was here now, patiently rubbing my back as I pour my heart out to him. It kills me that he does not care enough to sit with me this way. Even when we sit together in the evenings, I often get the sense that he is more interested in the book he is reading than in me. Sometimes I wonder if he would even sense my absence if I were to slip out of the room.

Perhaps he wouldn't.

Perhaps I might slip out of the house on one of these occasions and it would be hours before he realizes I'm gone. Not Ivan though. Ivan will always be there at the door to try to talk me out of it, or to reluctantly hand me my coat if i insist on leaving. But Elrond… he would not know. He would be quietly oblivious in the comfort of his study.

TBC...


	4. chapter 4

Title: Whispers of the mind

Author: fazy

Pairing: Haldir/ Elrond.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: 1st person narrative. 21st century Scotland, Haldir feels his husband is neglecting him.

Warnings: Mpreg, fatalism, depression, self-harm, eventual character deaths.

A/N: for those unfamilliar with the elvish of the fandom, 'hervenn' means 'husband', 'im mil le' is popularly taken as 'i love you' and 'uireb' is 'forever'.

* * *

I am miserable. The love of my life does not see me anymore. I am slowly growing invisible to him. Two weeks have passed, and the book of baby names sits untouched in the bottom drawer of my cabinet. I lie in bed most days now. I don't quite see the point of getting up, only to drift aimlessly around the house. I don't quite see the point of getting dressed if he's only going to look at me unseeingly. 

I sigh heavily. It's been two weeks, and I haven't brought up the subject again since dinner that night. I just never had the strength to. He wasn't interested anyway. I choke back a sob. I had been looking forward to it so much! I wanted him to be a part of it, but he was so distant.

I sigh again and make my decision. If he did not wish to be part of the process then so be it. It was time to take charge of my own life. Like a vengeful spirit, I rise from the bed and retrieve the book from my cabinet-- still in it's shrink wrap-- and return to my cozy spot on the bed. Slowly, regretfully, I tear open the plastic covering. I feel like I am tearing up my hopes and dreams as well. I had hoped to show him the book, and sit down with him together to pour over it's contents. I had always imagined that we would tear off the wrapping together. And now I feel as if my hopeful vision of my heart is being ripped to shreds.

I flip open to the first page, and skim the introduction listlessly. I am in no mood for the cheery congratulations of the writers. Instead, I flip forward, past the contents and the astrology pages and dive straight into the list of names for boys.

_A-- Aaron: Hebrew, (Aharon). "Lofty or exhalted," Aaron, brother of Moses, qualified and enlightened, was exalted as the first high priest of the Hebrews. Aaron Burr, 3rd Vice-President of the U.S. English variation: Aron. Foreign variation: Haroun (Arabic)._

I swallow hard and close my eyes to steady myself. Aeron. It was my pet name for my husband, a modern, simplified form of 'Elrond' that i had thought up for him. Aeron. It was my own private name for him, a name I called him when I was being playful and he was being indulgent. I raise my hand to my mouth to down my grief. So many memories, so much laughter, so many smiles. When was the last time my Aeron had smiled at me? I bite my wrist, concentrating on the pain in my hand rather than the ache in my heart. Ai, Aeron, my Aeron, my husband… im mil le... uireb...

_Abel: Herbrew (Heb-hel) "Breath, evanescence." Abel was the second son of Adam and Eve._

_Abelard: Old German. (Adelhard) "Nobly resolute." Pierre Abelard, 12th century French philosopher, renowned for his romance with Heloise._

_Abner: Herbrew. (Abhner) "Father of light." Abner Doubleday, inventor of baseball._

Reading through the lists of names, I feel the strength drain from my fingers. I cannot concentrate on the task at hand. All I can think of are the times my husband and I played together, and how he no longer spends time with me. We were supposed to do this together! He was supposed to be here with me, smiling and indulgent, as I sit in his lap. He would wrap an arm around my waist, and we would pour over the names together, laughing and joking about them, trying them on for size. And now as i think it, I feel so agonizingly lonely, sitting here in the room while my husband busies himself in his study. Ai hervenn... im mil le... i love you... don't you love me too?

_Abraham: Hebrew. "Father of the multitude." The most exhaulted founder of the Hebrew people. Abraham Lincoln, 16th president of the U.S. English names: Abe, Abie, Bram. Foreign variations: Abramo, Abraham (Italian), Abraham (Spanish), Ibrahim (Arabic)._

_Abram: Hebrew. "The lofty one is father" Abram Newkrik, American Episcopal bishop, 1824-1901. English variations: Abe, Abie. Foreign variations: Abramo (Italian), Bram (Dutch)_

I cannot take it anymore. My fingers can no longer support the weight of the book, and I let it fall from my hands and onto the bed sheets. I cover my face and sob chokingly. Where is my husband when I need him? He was supposed to be here with me as I pour through the names. It was supposed to be something we would do together! It was our child, for goodness sake, why wasn't he bothered at all? Didn't he care anymore?

In my desperation, I cast my eyes across the room, and eventually they come to rest on a small glass vial perched neatly on the bedside table. The vial is another slap in the face. My-husband-the-healer has prescribed anti-depressants for me. He thinks I need medication. What I really need is his love.

I fall back into bed and weep piteously. Can't he see that I am falling apart before him? Can't he see that I am desperate for his attention? He neglects me emotionally and when I get upset he blames it on a chemical imbalance. It kills me. I feel invalidated, that he would not even acknowledge the reality of my upset. I don't need any foreign substances in my body. What I need, what I crave, what I am desperate for is for him to spend time with me… for him to support me, to be with me, to love me. It makes me feel as if he doesn't care about me anymore, and that the contents in the vial were just a convenient way out for him to deny me the right of my emotions.

He has removed all sharp objects from the room, and with good reason. The very memory of his arms around me contrasts too harshly with the emptiness I feel now. It hurts. I hurts so badly that I want to stab myself in the arm to distract myself from the pain. I cannot take it any longer. It is simply unbearable. I am an elf. I heal quickly. Such an act will leave no lasting damage on my body, but the pain of the physical will distract my mind from the hurt I feel inside. I close my eyes and imagine how good it would feel to plunge a knife into my arm, to stab at myself again and again until all my frustration is spent, to feel the warm redness of blood seep through my broken skin, and to finally have something else to focus on besides the gnawing agony inside.

TBC...


	5. chapter 5

Title: Whispers of the mind

Author: fazy

Pairing: Haldir/ Elrond.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: 1st person narrative. 21st century Scotland, Haldir feels his husband is neglecting him.

Warnings: Mpreg, fatalism, depression, self-harm, eventual character deaths.

A/N: sorry this one's so short. its the exam period at the moment, so i'm really busy. also, my love life just went down the drain, so i'm a bit fizzled at the moment. the next update is going to be much longer. AND it'll feature our Resident Peredhil, so hang in there.

* * *

Ivan is ill. He has not been up to see me for five days, and I am told he is suffering a relapse. He has chronic bronchitis, and the cold weather we've been having lately is doing nothing to help his condition. Ah! Finally something to get me moving! I pull on my clothes, splash my face with water and make my way towards the room he shares with his wife.

I see his face light up with pleasure and relief when he sees me. Five days he has been ill, five short days, but already he looks emaciated, sucked dry of bodily sustenance by the weight of his illness. He struggles to sit up, but I push him gently down again. His wife looks at me gratefully. She is pale and drawn, exhausted from worry and from nursing his illness.

Why doesn't Elrond's face light up that way when he sees me?

I feel my tears rising once more, and I fight them back down again. Ivan is so glad to see me up and about. He has been worrying himself silly about my well being, and apologizes profusely for not being able to watch over me the past five days. The tears rise again.

Ivan watches me sob and pats my hand reassuringly. I smile through my tears. How could it be that this outsider cared more about me than my own husband? How could it be that this outsider was more concerned? Ivan must truly be my guardian angel, but though I feel blessed to have him in my life, it hurts to think that he was the one who took the greatest concern for me. Not my husband. Not the person who had sworn his everlasting love to me. Not the person who impregnated me. Not him. No, poor Elrond was too busy in his own study to care about the likes of me.

I left the room soon after. Ivan was so old now! It scares me. It seems like yesterday when he first came into our service. How long would he still be with us? Humans didn't live all that long, and soon, too soon, he would die. What would I do without him? How can I live without Ivan there to comfort me when I fell out with my husband, or to console me when I felt disconnected from him? I shudder. Already I can feel that my marraige is starting to fall apart.

* * *

TBC... 


	6. chapter 6

Title: Whispers of the mind

Author: fazy

Pairing: Haldir/ Elrond.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: 1st person narrative. 21st century Scotland, Haldir feels his husband is neglecting him.

Warnings: Mpreg, fatalism, depression, self-harm, eventual character deaths.

* * *

He doesn't touch me at night. I hear him enter the room, and I hurriedly stifle my tears, lay very still and pretend that I am asleep. He goes about his business, putting away his things, changing into his nightclothes, getting through his evening toilette. I hear his footfalls around the room, his steady, rhythmic pace as he goes through his daily routine.

He checks the glass vial at the bedside table to see if I have taken the medicine, then pauses at his side of the bed. What is he doing? I do not know. My back is turned, so I cannot catch his face while he stands silently. It feels like an entire hour has passed before he sighs, draws back the covers and slides into bed.

He does not touch me. He has been very careful not to of late. I sense the awkwardness in his movements, they are not natural and free. He does not want to disturb me. He thinks I am too ill to be disturbed, he thinks the best thing he can do is to leave me alone. But I do not want to be left alone. I want to feel him embrace me. I want to feel his love.

I listen for his breathing to take on the heaviness of sleep, but for hours it remains shallow and unsteady. I feel his eyes on me. He is watching me, probably propped up against his pillow, watching my back. He watches me for hours, until I sense the shift in the air as the night goes through it's coldest phase. And still he watches me.

The night sounds change. It is amazing how it is possible to tell the time of the night by the noises of the nocturnals. It is almost four in the morning before he finally sighs again and takes his eyes off me. He shifts in bed, and I hear the crinkle of his pillows as he curls up on his side. Finally. Soon I would be able to stop pretending.

His breathing grows labored, and a strange sound reaches my ears. It is a mixture of erratic panting and stifled mewling, firmly suppressed even as it leaves his throat, and it some time before I realize with shock that it is the sound of a man who forgotten how to cry.

My husband weeps.

I throw off my duvet in alarm and drape myself across his back, reaching down to caress his face. My hand comes away damp. He never weeps. He looks up at me, and his face contorts as hope and hopelessness do battle. But he does not speak. I take his hand and he holds it tight. I do not wait for him to seek me out. I am afraid that if I wait, I will wait forever. He does not come to me. He does not know how. It is always he who waits for me to come to him. It has never been any other way.

"Hervenn.." I say first. I am afraid if I wait, I will wait forever. He shifts so that he lies flat on the bed, so that I am no longer sprawled across his back but across his chest, and looks at me with wide, sorrowful eyes. I dash what remains of his tears from his eyes, but my gesture breaks something in him, and he starts weeping afresh.

"I don't know what to do, Haldir," he chokes between sobs. "I've done everything I can, I've tried everything I know…" He cups my face between his hands and looks at me, grief-stricken. Fearful.

Fearful?

Ah, Clelebrian. He had lost his wife to an illness, hadn't he? He had worked in vain to nurse her back to health, he had tried everything he knew how but she grew weaker despite his best efforts. He had seen his wife literally fade away before his eyes, helpless to do anything to stop it, and now he is afraid his husband would go down that same route. He is terrified. I see it in his eyes.

"Hervenn…" I whisper. He runs his hand through my hair and shudders when a whole fistfull of it comes loose in his hand. I am not surprised. My hair has been coming off in clumps. He stares at the pale yellow strands in his hand with his eyes wide, trembles, and then tosses it away. He draws me close and hugs me desperately to his chest.

"Don't leave me," he whispers. "Don't leave me, Haldir. Please don't go." He is crying now, and so am I. "I don't know what to do," he says again. "I've tried everything. I just don't know what to do. Tell me what I must do. Don't leave me, Haldir. I love you." He pleads to me to say something, I cannot. My throat is too full with the sounds of my sobs to be of any use to either of us. He rocks me in his arms, more for his benefit than for mine, and weeps chokingly.

"Love me," I say at last.

"I do love you."

I take his hand and look into his eyes. "Love me," I say again, gently this time. He is confused. He does not know my meaning. He brushes my hair away from my face and looks searchingly at me. He does not understand. He does not know my meaning. "I don't feel it," I say at last. And it is true. I know he loves me. I know that in my head, from logical reasoning. "But I don't feel it."

He pales. He is like a child who has just been slapped, and I know I have just dashed his world to pieces. His eyes brim with anguish. "What do you mean you mean…" he says slowly. The words are tight and grating, they sound like they are forced from the depth of his dry throat.

His eyes grow glazed, and I know he is seeing the images of us happy together. A quiet meal in his study. Reading by the fireplace. A post-dinner cuddle. A flower bath in the Jacuzzi. Walking together in the snow. Dancing in the rain. A grass fight in the rose garden. My binding myself to him. His declaration of love to me. A deep red rose on the pillow, freshly picked from our special hybrid.

"Does all that mean nothing?" he says weakly. His breathing is alarmingly shallow. "All that… nothing?"

I weep to see his pain. I love this man with all my heart, and it hurts me to see him like this. "Ai, no… they are very special," I say. "I love to do things with you. I love it when you pull me outdoors with you, or… all the precious memories. But they happen once and I feel it so strongly, but then the moment passes and... What about every day? You pay more attention to your work than you do to me. What about me? What about Baby? I'm pregnant. I've been pregnant for months and we haven't even talked about Baby's name."

And finally I had said it, said the words that were holding me down. But it was a hollow victory. I felt that I had achieved nothing.

"We haven't talked about it because you didn't want to talk about it."

"But I want to! I've wanted to for ages! I just never knew how. Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you tell me what to say! Why didn't you bother to help me say it!" I am crying now, crying with abandon. "You are never there when I need you. Your seneschal cares about me more than you do. Ivan spends more time with me than you! I hate you!" I scream. I throw a pillow at him, and then I try to smother him with it, but I am weak and my mind is in pieces, and he somehow manages to wrestle me down again.

I whimper and thrash like a mad animal, but he has pinned me down too securely for me to break free. "Let me go!" I scream. "Let me go you dirty mongrel! I hate you, I hate you, I HATE you! Bloody peredhil. Filthy half-breed! Let me go!"

Elrond starts. He releases his grip and sinks back into bed. I freeze, horrified at what I have just said, horrified at what I just called him. I stare dazedly at him. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth pressed thin to seal in his hurt but the rest of his face is carefully blank. "Elrond," I say tentatively. He does not look at me. I start to cry again, this time out of remorse and helplessness. What can I do to make things better? I had hit him where it hurt the hardest, and there was no way to recall what had already left my mouth.

"Elrond?" I say again. My voice is sore from all my crying and I end up croaking like a frog. "I'm sorry." I reach out to touch his cheek but he ignores me and stares straight ahead of him. "Aeron?" I try again. I am getting desperate. He still takes no notice of me. I heave myself up and crawl towards him. I drape my arms around his neck and try to kiss him, but he shoves me roughly aside, so that I fall back against the headboard.

He is hurt, I know, and it is all my fault. But being pushed away like that is more than I can take. I break down into sobs and pull the covers over my head. There will be no more attempts at communication tonight.

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TBC...

**HiddenPortrait:** heh, thanks! i'm experimenting with a new style... the leggy one was a breakthrough in that it was my first landmark LoTR fic... like a first one with a real storyline and progression and all. then i did a couple along those lines... Dreamscape (i love Dreamscape) is one of them. others are scatterd in various archives. (ff,net dont allow for sex scenes..). and then i did Eyes of a Lover (which i am in love with!!). this is in the same style of Eyes, only this is a long fic.

**smoothNcreamy: **heh, i had a lot of bad reviews abt chappie 1. glad you stayed thru though. :D and dont worry, things get better. i'm at chappie 11 now, and i can promise you things look nice for a bit. where it goes from there is supposed to be bittersweet... if only i can persuade them to write themselves that way. honestly, the charries never do as i tell them to! ;)

**ancara-iii: **thanks for the review! :D and it is alive... i've just done a draft of chappie 11.

**des and les: **lets see... what gave me the inspiration? hmmm.... i guess i just love mpreg. hehe. and i love this pairing. my partner and i always write haldir/elrond. i do haldir, she does elrond... and that way their relationship kinda keeps a form of realism cos i never know how E's gonna react. and thanks for saying it's true to life! /_blush/_ am flattered.

**Knight Kenobi of Eryn Lasgalen:** heheh. thanks. sorry to hear abt your laptop tho. i have a laptop too, and it's _my _little Baby. i love my laptop.

**Haldir's Heart and Soul: **assuming you do pop by again, hehe. hi dear! glad to see you here.

**Dread Lady Freya: **thanks for the review. it's been a long time, but that was the very first review for Whispers and i just wanna say thanks. /hugs freya/ thanks!!!


	7. chapter 7

Title: Whispers of the mind

Author: fazy

Pairing: Haldir/ Elrond.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: 1st person narrative. 21st century Scotland, Haldir feels his husband is neglecting him.

Warnings: Mpreg, fatalism, depression, self-harm, eventual character deaths.

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When I wake up the next morning, the sun is already shining brightly. How long have I slept? I turn on my side, and I am surprised to see the bed next to me already empty. It is unusual. He is only half elf. His body demands more sleep than mine. I often lie awake in bed and watch him sleep in my arms, I love to watch him drift off into his dreams at night, and watch him sleepily drift awake in the morning. He mostly sleeps with his eyes open like an ordinary elf, but every few weeks, or when he is really tired, his mortal blood asserts itself. I love to watch him sleep with his eyes closed. He looks like an angel.

I close my eyes and imagine him curled up beside me with his eyes closed. He looks so beautiful in my vision. He looks calm and at peace, he is restful the way he never thoroughly is in his lighter elvish sleep. I love my peredhil. I love all the signs of his manhood. I love that he sleeps with his eyes shut, because that gives me the chance to kiss him good morning on his closed eyelids. He hates it because it reminds him of his mixed blood, but I find it absolutely irresistible. I love that he is built like a man, dense and broad-shouldered unlike most other elves who look too delicate for their own good. Most elves look so fragile I think that I can snap them in two with my bare hands. I very probably can. I am built heavier than an average elf, and it gives me that slight advantage over them.

I love his dark colouring, though whether it comes from his Noldor blood or his Man blood I know not. He has beautiful, dark hair and skin of a honeyed golden hue. It is so unlike my own pale and whitewashed features; he isso rich and stunning, so unlike my own stale whiteness. I adore him.

And though he is thoroughly ashamed of it, I love that he has a light dusting of bodily fur. It fascinates me. It isn't coarse and curly like most full-blooded men are. I dislike man fur,the average man isbuilt like a hairy gorilla, but Elrond is different. His is soft like a chick's down feathers, just a hint of the velvety smoothness across his chest, slightly thicker at his groin and underarms. It is just thick enough for me to run my fingers through it. I love to run my fingers through his fur. I love to play with his fur. It fascinates me. _He_ fascinates me. He is the perfect balance between his two races; dark without being sunburnt, dense without being chunky, velvety without being hairy, and best of all, blessed with the lifespan of an immortal.

I hear a noise to my left and open my eyes. I look up and see him step out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. The water makes his hair appear so dark it looks almost black. He glances casually at me, probably thinking I must still be asleep, but freezes and shrinks away when he sees me watching him. He pauses for awhile, uncertain, before he averts his gaze and starts to dry himself.

Is my husband afraid of me?

I think back to last night and remember the awful fight we had. Ai, Valar, what have I done! I close my eyes and groan inwardly. "Hervenn?" I whisper, too afraid to face him. What if he ignores me the way he did last night. So I avert my eyes when I say that, but my ears I keep sharp. I hear him freeze in the middle of drying his hair. There is a pause, as if the earth itself was waiting with baited breath for one of us to act. But I don't know what I should do, and neither does he, and the moment passes. He returns to drying himself, and I am plunged back into my guilt.

I rise from the bedto help him dress. He does not resist. I straighten his collar and smooth down his shirt, and later I smooth down his jacket when he puts it on. I ask him where he is going, and he responds that he has a meeting. All this time, we have not met the other's eyes. We cannot. I ask him where his meeting will be and he tells me it is somewhere in America. I do not press him for details. I do not want to stifle him.

And suddenly, I am struck bya fear that he might be having an affair. I know that it is completely absurd for me to even think that, I know that Elrond just isn't that kind of person, but this is the first time he has not told me of his movements before hand. And it is the first time since our binding that he has not volunteered the details of his travels. It is the first time in years that he has not asked me to come with him on his trip.

I shudder and grow cold. "I love you," I whisper softly, dreading that I no longer have his love. He is silent for a long while, then he swallows hard andlooks away. He bites his lip. He sighs. He glances at me, and then fidgets and purses his lips into a thin hard line.

"I don't feel it," he says at last, echoing my words to him the night before. The force of his statement knocks the air out of me. I step backwards and sit down heavily on the nearest chair I can find.

"But I _do_," I tremble. I fold my hands in my lap to quell my distress but I am every bit as shaken as I was before. "I _do_ love you."

He comes up to me and kisses my forehead gently. "As do I," he says, then picks up his suitcase. He pauses in the doorway and turns around partially. "I know youdo," he says hollowly. "I just don't feel it." And with that, he turns around and walks off.

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TBC... 


End file.
